If you’ve been here a while, you’ve likely noticed a dramatic decrease in posts over the last two years. There are many reasons for this. Part of it is due to the natural ebb and flow of life (I had a baby, I was too busy with other projects, etc), part of it was due to a little bit of humility (do I really have the hubris to preach while I am still learning?), and part of it—perhaps the majority—was an emerging fear of the permanency of the written word.
There has been a great deal of emphasis over the past few years on digging up words that people have written and using them to prove their inadequacies. As a witness to this, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t also passed judgment onto those who have expressed cringe-worthy sentiments online. As someone who cares about the process of healing, I understand the power that words carry. In the same breath—as someone who cares about the process of healing—I don’t believe in the permanency of thought.
One of the strangest paradoxes I’ve discovered on my own ‘growth’ journey is the “nourishment barrier.” The basic concept is this: when you were small and certain needs were unmet, you made up a story to protect yourself from how painful it felt. Often, it sounded a little something like, “I don’t actually need that thing.” As you grew up, you may have discovered that you really do need the thing. But for some reason, when people actively offer you what you’re needing, you cannot see or feel it. You might ignore it. You might make up a reason why it doesn’t quite do the trick. The need still feels ‘unmet.’
Nourishment barriers are tricky little things. They are designed to go unnoticed to the point where even if they get called out, you will deny, deny, deny.
Often, the nourishment barrier is layered under a series of stories you’ve told yourself about who you are and what you need. Stories that may not be true, but that you believe in your bones.
If you haven’t heard of nourishment barriers (you’d be in the majority) and you’re curious to see how they manifest and wreak havoc on a person’s life, read on:
I am listening to the sound of my toddler’s voice in the other room, neighing as though she were a horse. It reminds me of her excitement last night, after a “this little piggy” session, when she ran to her father’s toes and started squealing, “weee wee wee wee!”
She so wants to share her joy when she is in it.
I just finished a meditation. I don’t meditate like the books tell you to, I listen. I listen for voices of kindness and reason and love to come through and comfort me. To remind me why I’m here. To encourage me. To guide me away from the distractions and toward my values.
If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve heard me talk about your energy body. Maybe this is an intuitive concept for you. If not, I want to walk you through what it is and why it’s important.
Last week a friend shared the story circulating on social media about the human rights lawyer, Steven Donziger who tried to go after Chevron for dumping tons of toxic chemicals in the Ecuadorian rainforest (which they’ve admitted to) and lost, only to be counter-prosecuted for contempt of court. Donzinger was sentenced to 6 months in prison. One of the judges involved in his case, Loretta Preska, is a leader of the Chevron-funded Federalist Society.
I have a confession to make that might be obvious to you if you’ve been following my work over the last few years: I am a big proponent of spiritualism. This naturally conflicts with my desire to explain the science behind all of the things I preach on this blog. I want you to know the science because I want you to understand how the machine (your mind, your body, your nervous system, your spirit) works. But every now and again there’s a practice I lean into that hasn’t been adequately measured by science—can’t, actually, be measured, yet, because the tools for such measurement don’t yet exist.
I once heard grief described as ‘love that has nowhere to go.’
From a somatic psychology perspective, this makes sense. Grief is often experienced as a sort of restless sadness—a longing for something permanently out-of-reach. But what if we gave that love a place to go?
Yesterday I was about to post a video to Instagram, but stopped when I saw my reflection in the camera. Because I’ve become a pro at recognizing my reactivity, I decided to be honest with my community. I asked my Instagram community if they wanted me to share what it looks like when I reprogram an unhelpful narrative. They said yes! So here we are.
Having a strategy for self-regulation makes growth feel safe. These four simple steps will help you return to resilience the next time you’re off your game.
This year the only thing I’ve got on my list for 2020 is to invite more ritual into my life.
I was recently talking to a friend about it and she said, “I feel like you already have a lot of rituals.” She’s not wrong. But I thought about it and replied, “Yeah, but they feel more like habits than rituals. I want to try to invite more intention into them.” Because a repetitive action without intention is just a habit. But when you invite intention into the moment, when you elicit a sense of presence in the act, then it becomes a ceremony.